


Ode to an Uncommon Man

by eyelessbaby



Category: Actor RPF, loitering with intent, peter o'toole - Fandom
Genre: Acting, Actor - Freeform, Admiration, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Appreciation Post, Character Study, Drunkenness, Fame, Love, Other, Poetry, Rugby, What's New Pussycat, admiration and despair, biographical mostly, loitering with intent - Freeform, ode, peter o'toole - Freeform, poem, references to autobiography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26524993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyelessbaby/pseuds/eyelessbaby
Summary: An Ode to a man that I admire but is not always admirablePoem || Impressions of Peter O'Toole || Inspired by his films and "Loitering with Intent"
Kudos: 1





	Ode to an Uncommon Man

**Author's Note:**

> “I will not be a common man. I will stir the smooth sands of monotony.” — Peter O’Toole

You little buggerin’ blue eyed bastard!

You make me crave a life outside what is common

Because to see you is to look upon someone remarkable.

Your voice bubbles into your pint when your head hangs low at the bar. Time to go.

  
  


You strut with ease— to get closer to the things we fear but don’t understand.

You make it seem unreal— yet attainable if you have the right swing to your march.

Cobbled streets teeter each step and crevasses twist your heels.

You strove— trudging through literal piles of shit— 

Just to show how beautifully you speak—

With one drawling breath—

You overcome that slight lisp and split tongue.

The blue glow of the moon finds what is golden in your hair.

Everyone thought you’d puff and drink yourself to an early grave

Or those twig like bones of yours would split as you gangled to and fro.

You knock off a single shoe when your lanky legs sprawl over the arm of a settee.

But— they were wrong, and you probably outlived a decent portion of them.

Yet you left me only with wanting and the unrippled sands of monotony—

Craving one more drop of brandy to seep into my coat, not to taste, but to smell

—and steep in what you were. 

[And sleep.]


End file.
